*cough* I am writing this at home. Because I am sick. Actually, I was even sicker yesterday but I was in work all day, even though I had a horrible hot dizzy spell in Marks and Spencer (God, how middle class and suburban does that sound?) and had to sit down and be brought water. I think I had a bit of a temperature but I just went back to work and didn't tell my bosses what had happened (they both had headaches so I think something is going around). I just sat at my desk and tried to work although my head felt like it was filled with wool. I am meant to be going to a gig tonight with biascut and glitzfrau and instead I am languishing on the couch.

I've got to say, it's rather nice to be home during the day again. I do miss it. I have watched the first episode of Jane Eyre (which was repeated on Sunday afternoon and recorded), which was excellent. I do wonder, though, how they're going to present the whole madwoman in the attic thing while still keeping Mr Rochester in some way sympathetic and attractive. Still, it's very well cast and suitably atmospheric and gothic - perfect viewing for what is now actually feeling like a season of mists and mellow fruitfulness instead of a slightly manky Spring. Adding to the feeling of impending winter are the balls of wool I have recently accumulated, all of which are being turned into various forms of lace scarf-like objects. I've been curled up on my birthday chair listening to all the episodes of Woman's Hour which I've missed through being at work all day without my beloved Radio 4, knitting a new version of Branching Out with the gorgeous dyed merino wool leedy got for me in San Francisco. Later I will have to reply to all the e-mails which, I realise with horror, I thought I had replied to weeks ago. This is what happens when you can't check your main e-mail account during the day.